


Called Up

by Deliah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic), Hockey RPF, Original Work, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Check Please! (kind of), Dubious NHL contract knowledge, Fictional NHL teams, Gen, Goalies being goalies, Guest starring Hockey RPF, Hockey RPF (kind of), No Check Please! knowledge required, Texas, Women in the NHL, mostly OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deliah/pseuds/Deliah
Summary: “Ramona,” says her agent’s voice, tinny and crackling from the phone speaker on the desk of her team's GM. “You’ve been called up.”Called up means the big show, called up means the Aeros, called up means the NHL; called up means suiting up as a goalie for the biggest and best professional hockey league there is, one that’s comprised entirely of men. Men, and now her. Not that she isn’t used to that, but there’s a difference in being the only woman when it’s just the minors, on a feeder team affiliated with a perennial-loser expansion team, in one of the smallest markets in the country.There’s a very big difference, and Ramona Cooper isn’t sure she is ready for it at all.---In which Ramona Cooper accidentally becomes the NHL's first female player and tries really hard not to fuck up too badly (and sometimes even succeeds). Doesn't actually really have anything to do with Check Please! apart from borrowing some fictional NHL teams. Background appearences from Real(tm) hockey players, but mostly OCs.





	1. This is how it starts:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main cast of this fic are OCs on a fictional team borrowed from the Check Please universe, but not featuring any actual Check Please characters or requiring any familiarity with Check Please in general. Hockey RPF background and guest appearances.
> 
> All contract knowledge comes from Google and is probably wildly inaccurate. Knowledge of the day-to-day life of a professional player comes from general osmosis from being a hockey fan, and is also probably wildly inaccurate.
> 
> Hockey and Texas knowledge is hopefully a little more accurate, since I'm a hockey player in Texas, but I'm a C level beer leaguer and also not a goalie, so it's still probably a crapshoot. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar, Check Please features four fictional expansion teams: The Providence Falconers and Las Vegas Aces (both part of the main story) and the Seattle Schooners and Houston Aeros (both only mentioned). I’m borrowing the Aeros. No relation to the defunct minor league Houston Aeros team, apart from the name.

 

This is how it starts:

 

It’s just after morning practice when Ramona Cooper gets summoned to talk to the Houston Bombers GM.

 

“Hey Coop, Alders wants you in his office,” babyfaced intern Mikey says, sticking his head into the locker room, and Ramona kind of hates him for a moment.

 

She’s barely had time to strip out of her goalie pads and skates, down to her underarmor as she waits for her turn in the showers. The boys are already all in there, so none of them see her go; she’s not sure if she’s grateful for that or not. If she’s about to do the walk of shame out of the building with only her gear bag and a dropped contract to show for it, then she doesn’t want their pity.

 

But still, a commiserating look or a friendly bump to the shoulder from Cheese or Manny or someone might have been a nice send-off; the boys know what it can mean when these summons come.

 

She makes her way to the admin offices of the practice facility like that, a little chilly in her rapidly cooling sweat-soaked athletic gear, reeking of hockey and with hair probably mussed to all hell. A chance to dress and put her face on would have been nice, but she settles for running her fingers through her messy bob, pushing it back off her face and behind her ears as she schools her face into something resembling calm.

 

Ramona doesn’t know why Alderman wants to talk to her; she fights to keep her nerves down, and mostly succeeds. She’s been having a great season so far, outperforming Kennedy by miles (though that’s not hard), and she hasn’t heard any whispers of any new goaltender prospects that could be replacing her--though god knows they could sure fucking use some, the way things have been going for the Aeros. She doesn’t think she’s done anything to upset PR lately either, though it helps that Houston essentially ignores minor league hockey in general and by extension her as well, a luxury she might not have gotten up north in a true hockey town. Still, she’s mostly sure she’s not about to get canned (or worse, sent back down to the Bulls).

 

But still, her brain whispers.

 

But still.

 

Ramona pauses outside Alderman's office to center herself. She breathes in; she breathes out.  More settled now, she knocks on the door before letting herself in. Alderman looks up from his desk and smiles broadly at her from beneath his bushy gray moustache, and she hesitates inside the door. Smiling is probably a good sign, she thinks, because he’s not the type of GM to cut you and look happy about it, but he also isn’t the type of GM that smiles much in general, or ever, so it’s unnerving to have it directed at her.

 

“Uh, you wanted to see me?” Ramona asks. Her voice stays even; a small victory.

 

“Ms. Cooper!” Alderman says, and yes, that is definitely not a firing kind of tone. “Please, have a seat,” he gestures towards the chairs in front of his wide desk and she obediently lowers into one. She knows she’s close enough now for Alderman to smell how badly she reeks, but he very tactfully doesn’t mention it.

 

Instead he pushes a blinking button on the business phone on his desk, and the faint static of an open line crackles from the speaker. “Okay, James, she’s here,” he says, and Ramona realizes he must have had a call on hold.

 

“Hello, Ramona, did you get my voicemail?” says the tinny voice coming from the speaker, and Ramona twitches, startled to recognize it as James Peterson, her agent. She’s a bit bewildered--her contract for the season is pretty well settled at this point, so hearing James talking to Alderman is definitely unexpected.

 

“Um, hi, no,” she answers dumbly. Her phone is somewhere in her purse, tucked at back of her locker room stall--she’s made a careful habit of not using it in the locker room, one of her Rules. “James, what’s going on?”

 

“Ramona,” James says, voice clear against the background buzz of the speaker. “You’ve been called up to the Aeros.”

 

* * *

 

That’s not really how it starts. This is how it starts:

 

Ramona walks into tryouts for the Big Spring Bulls with nothing to lose. The Bulls are the ECHL team near Houston, that feeds the Houston Bombers in the AHL, which is in turn the farm team for the Houston Aeros in the NHL; but more importantly, the Bulls badly need a goaltender. It’s a Hail Mary shot, but it’s honestly her best and last option before she has to give up professional hockey entirely, and that’s enough motivation to drive her through the door.

 

She never would have done it back up north, but things are different in Texas. There’s no real hockey culture here, no flood of poorly socialized Canadian boys fresh from juniors competing for roster spots. There sure as hell is no professional women’s team here, or in any of the neighboring states, for that matter. Just dismal open tryouts for a dismal developmental team under a dismal farm team for arguably the worst team in the NHL.

 

After all, the Houston Aeros might be called a struggling expansion team, if one were being generous. If one were being honest, they would be described as a fucking hot mess of a team with bad ownership and worse luck. The owner of the team had hired an idiot of a GM to start, and they had done atrociously in the expansion draft, and then been mismanaged and poorly coached to all hell after that, a trainwreck in what was already a pretty shitty market for professional hockey. And while they were under new management and coaching now, things were still a long way from really turning around, hampered by bad cap hits and a string of injuries.

 

And the position worst-hit by injuries was goaltending.

 

The Aeros are on starter number six of the season, Marcus Janick, and while he isn’t looking like a franchise goaltender with his abysmal save percentage stats, he is at least staying healthy enough to stand in the crease for more than two games in a row, which was more than his rotating cast of back-up goalies could say.

 

And as call-ups happened and kept happening, goalie deficits trickled downhill, until the Bulls were desperate enough to look at any wannabe off the streets with big dreams of making the pros. So here was Ramona, gear bag in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the pathetic hopefuls.

 

It’s her, and some snot-nosed teens from the local private high schools that could actually afford a hockey program, and some college kids who were born in the wrong part of the country to go into the minors, and a few full grown beer leaguers whose wives probably don’t know they are here. All of them looking for their shot.

 

Ramona is better than all of them, and she knows it.

 

She just hopes the team is as desperate for a half-decent goalie as she is desperate to keep playing professional hockey.

 

And as it turns out, they are.

 

* * *

 

 

But really, this is how it starts:

 

“Ramona, baby, the doctors say it’s breast cancer,” her mom says, and Ramona clings to her cell phone like a lifeline, cradles it against her head like it might shatter into pieces, even though she’s the one that’s currently falling apart.

 

“How bad is it?” Ramona asks, and she barely recognizes herself, voice tiny and scared.

 

“It’s not that bad,” her mom says reassuringly, but Ramona hears the tremor in her voice. “They say I can beat it.”

 

“‘Can beat it’,” Ramona repeats. “But not for sure, you mean.”

 

“I will,” her mom says, and “I’ll be okay,” her mom says, and “it’s not as bad as it could be,” her mom says, and Ramona is ten seconds from buying a plane ticket to Texas because she doesn’t believe a damn word of it.

 

Ramona fights to stay calm for her mom's sake, if nothing else. She breathes in; she breathes out. “What’s the plan? What are you doing? Have you started treatment, do you need help?”

 

Ramona’s mom is quiet for a long moment. “They say I need a double mastectomy. And then I’ll be doing chemo until it goes away.”

 

“Oh god, mom,” Ramona chokes out, calm quickly shattered. She was pre-med in college, she can read between the lines. Double mastectomy and rounds of chemo isn’t a ‘not that bad’ prognosis.

 

“Where are you--when--” she can’t continue.

 

“I’m going to Houston, there’s a hospital with a good treatment center there. I’ve already got a place lined up near downtown with Louise, you remember Louise right? Your cousin’s aunt on the other side? She’s going to rent me a room while I get treated.”

 

Well, that’s something but...Ramona does some math. Her mother is a teacher, and she’s moving cross state for treatment, and she’s never had much to her name to start with, even with Ramona moved out to Maine and supporting herself now, and--

 

“How are you going to afford this?” she asks, but she already knows the answer.

 

Her mom sighs, heavy. “I don’t know. I’ll find a way though, okay baby?”

 

“I’m coming to Texas.”

 

“No, baby,” her mom says, “I’ll be fine. I just didn’t want to hide this from you, but you stay put. And I’ll let you know when I need you, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Ramona lies. It’s not okay, and she’s not going to stay put. But no point in fighting about it. She goes through the rest of the phone call, faking platitudes and politely not puncturing her mother’s false bravado and getting and giving promises to keep updated and stay positive. And she plans.

 

She knows some facts. Ramona can’t pay for her mother’s treatment. She’s barely better than paycheck-to-paycheck herself. The women’s pro hockey league actually pays a salary now, which is nice, but it’s a pittance that doesn’t even cover all of her own bills, a gap that she meets working at a medical supply store part-time during the season, full-time during the offseason. At least she’s lucky enough to not have any student debt--an athletic scholarship saved her from that during her NCAA days.

 

But now at age 23, her mom half a country away and possibly dying of cancer, she realizes that it might be time to hang up her skates, make some actual use of her degree, and finally begin to pay back all those sacrifices her mother made raising her all alone. And if that means moving to Houston and finding a big-girl job and giving up professional hockey, well. She loves hockey, but she loves her mom more.

 

* * *

 

Ramona doesn’t think that she can have both.

 

She doesn’t find out she’s wrong until later, when she’s standing in the general manager’s office of the Big Spring Bulls, being asked if she has an agent, and could she look at these contracts, and is she comfortable with hammering out some guidelines for being a woman on a team of men, assuming she stays with them--and assuming they stay with her.

 

But she does stay with them, and her mother’s surgeries go well, and her games go even better, and then within half a year she’s in a different general manager’s office, the one for the Houston Bombers, her agent on conference call as GM Mohammed Alderman talks to her about PTO contracts, and potential AHL/ECHL two-way contracts, and how they want to handle the logistics of a mixed gender locker room. Of a mixed gender team.

 

And then, two years after that, her mother now long since recovered from chemotherapy and still safely in complete remission, Ramona stands in that same office like before, her agent on conference call like before, Alderman talking to her like before, only now it’s nothing like before at all, because now it’s not the minutia of the minor leagues they are discussing.

 

It’s the NHL.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been haunting my muse for a while, so I'm trying to exorcise it in the form of writing it the fuck down. Kind of a small target audience, but oh well.


	2. Meet the Aeros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little heavy on the NHL legalese, hopefully it's all ballpark accurate and not too boring. And now we get a chance to meet some of the guys!

 

So that’s how it started.

 

And this is where it’s ended up:

 

“Called up?” Ramona asks blankly. “Is this a joke?”

 

Ramona knows her place in the organization. Her role with the Bombers has always been a supportive one, maintaining some goaltending continuity for the team while the other goalie roster spot gets dedicated to fast tracking prospects to the Aeros. She’s not a prospect herself, no matter how good she’s been playing lately.

 

“It’s no joke,” Alderman replies. “Markov broke his leg during morning skate today. And the Aeros fly out tonight.”

 

“Marky broke his leg?” Ramona knows Markov pretty well, since he did a round on the Bombers with her before he was inevitably dragged into the turnstile that was the Aeros backup goaltending position. “How the fuck did he manage that?”

 

Alderman winces. “Apparently he was trying to, ah, figure skate. On a dare.” And yeah, okay, Ramona can believe that. Markov is a decent enough goaltender, but he’s also a bit of an idiot.

 

“Of course he was,” Ramona sighs. She huffs a breath and squares her shoulders. “Okay, so. Aeros. I take it we’re talking an emergency ATO contract, then.”

 

Emergency ATOs were one day contracts that got used for worst-case scenario goalie shortages, which usually only happened a couple times a season across the NHL. A lot of the time it just involved some random person in the organization--Ramona knew the Schooners had signed their equipment manager to one just a month ago, when their backup goalie had gotten food poisoning on a roadie, just so they wouldn’t have to essentially forfeit if their starter went down mid-game. He apparently played goalie in a beer league, but had obviously not seen any ice time in the end.

 

“Actually, no,” James says from the phone speaker, derailing her thoughts. “It’s probably going to take the Aeros more than a day to scrounge up a new backup, so they will need you on standby for at least this round of roadies. So we’re talking a real contract.”

 

“I’ve spoken with Jefferson,” Alderman says, meaning the Aeros GM, “and we’ve agreed that you are our best option, since Kennedy isn’t, ah, ready for that level yet. So we will mutually terminate your current contract so you can sign a new one.”

 

“Well, fuck,” Ramona says eloquently. A woman on an emergency one day contract would get a little attention, but a woman signing an actual NHL contract was going to draw a whole lot more, regardless of how unlikely she was to see any ice time. “This is going to be a media shitshow, isn’t it.”

 

“You don’t have to agree,” Alderman points out. “But…”

 

The rest of it went unspoken. Going up to the NHL is what the minors were _for_. It’s what every single person on the team dreams of, what they were all there for--except for her. But if Ramona isn’t willing to be on call for the Aeros, then justifying her spot on the roster was suddenly a lot more difficult. So there is no choice at all, really.

 

And, well, a few games of NHL salary could make a big difference for her mom’s medical debt. Ramona can’t ignore that.

 

She breathes in; she breathes out.

 

“No, it’s alright, I can deal. So, what are we talking? Two-way ELC?” Ramona asks, trying to do some quick calculations. Two-way contracts meant she would get AHL pay for AHL games, and NHL pay for NHL games, so the contract would cover her when she went back to the Bombers.

 

“Actually, you’re too old for entry-level now,” James says. “So you’re a group 6 free agent, but since it’s an injury replacement we don’t need to worry about free agency deadlines or waivers. But yes, definitely a two-way contract--we should be able to keep your same AHL salary rate for AHL games, and then just do league minimum for NHL games.”

 

“NHL minimum salary right now is $650,000,” Alderman adds helpfully.

 

“Holy fuck, that’s eight grand a game,” Ramona says, doing the mental math. That’s nearly ten times what she makes per game now--her current AHL contract is a little better than minimum, but it’s pennies next to an NHL contract, even prorated.

 

“But that sounds good to you, Ramona?” James asks. “One year two-way contract, with NHL minimum and your current AHL pay? I don’t think I can swing a signing bonus for you, but I’m sure I can get some performance bonuses written in, the usual goalie stuff.”

 

“James, I’m not going to be actually playing,” Ramona says. She’s starting to feel a little dizzy. “Bonuses don’t matter.”

 

“Let me do my job as your agent and get you the best deal I can, okay?” James says, and she nods, even though he can’t see it. “And I’ll try and get a no-movement clause as long as it’s on the table, I know it’s important to you that you stay near your mother.”

 

“Might as well, I guess? But this is insane,” she says. “The Aeros. Eight thousand fucking dollars. Jesus.”

 

“You’re a hard worker and a good team player, Ms. Cooper,” Alderman says. “Some recognition and compensation for that isn’t amiss.”

 

“Ramona,” James cuts back in, “I’m going to take these terms to the Aeros office and get a final contract all inked out. Just come in early this afternoon to meet me there to sign it.”

 

“This afternoon?” she asks, confused.

 

“They want you there for afternoon practice,” Alderman says, and duh, that’s right. She’s doing to have to actually suit up and be a goalie, even if she’s just along for the ride as a last resort.

 

This is all happening so fast. Ramona’s head is spinning. “Okay, just, uh, text me?” she says. “About what time to meet you? And I’m just gonna go, uh….shower.”

 

“That sounds great, I’ll see you soon Ramona. Call if you have any questions before then. Thanks for your time, Mohammed, goodbye to you both.” There’s a click and a dial tone as he hangs up, quickly silenced with the press of a button by Alderman.

 

“Fucking hell,” she mumbles, then glances up at Alderman. “Sorry for all the swearing, Alders.”

 

He just smiles at her. “Don’t sweat it. You’re a good kid, Ms. Cooper. We will miss your goaltending while you’re on loan.” She’s hardly a kid, but she lets that slide in favor of more important thoughts.

 

“Oh jeez, it’s gonna be Kennedy in the net for the Hershey Bears, isn’t it? Those poor boys.” Ramona scrubs a hand over her eyes, but then wrinkles her nose as she catches a fresh wave of scent from the motion. “Okay, I’m going to go shower now, for real. Uh, thanks for everything Alders. I’ll be back before you know it, I’m sure.”

 

Ramona makes her escape, making it halfway down the hallway before she stops to briefly sag against the wall. She breathes in; she breathes out. Okay, she can handle this, she just needs a plan. She needs to call her mom. She needs to call Echo or Angie, maybe. She needs to pack.

 

But first, she really does need to shower. She _reeks_.

 

* * *

 

Freshly clean and feeling a bit more fortified, Ramona carefully packs up all her gear, double-checking everything as she goes, since she doubts the Aeros are looking to kit out a backup. Luckily (or rather, intentionally), the Aeros color scheme of powder blue on navy is just the inverse of the Bombers colors, so all of her stuff matches the scheme. The logo on the edge of her pants will be wrong, but that won’t show behind her leg pads anyways, and sure, maybe her goalie mask has a bomber plane painted on it instead of a fighter jet, but she won’t even be wearing it on the bench so that doesn’t matter. But she’s still extra careful, just in case.

 

Just in case.

 

That’s two items done from her list, so Ramona fishes out her phone next. She’s got the two missed calls and a voicemail from James, a text from her mother that’s just a picture of a random dog in a dress, a text from Angie asking about dinner plans, and, finally, a text from Echo that says **dude marky broke his leg!!! did u hear?**

 

Ramona stares at that for a moment. **Ya I heard** , is what she finally settles on replying, which is probably the understatement of the year. **figure skating??** she adds after a moment.

 

**not sure abt dinner, some team stuff came up** she then sends to Angie. **ill tell you more later**.

 

Her phone dings. It’s Echo. **yeah it was pretty funny shit** he says. **i mean up until he died**.

 

**RIP** she sends back. Markov obviously isn’t actually dead, but a broken leg means his season sure is.

 

**i guess DK is gonna have to put on his big boy pants** Echo replies, meaning Kennedy.

 

Ramona debates correcting him but then decides against it. He can’t keep a secret to save his life, and besides, he will find out soon enough with the rest of the Aeros, Ramona is sure. **talk more later** is all she ends up sending back.

 

Her phone dings once more, but it’s James this time. **Please meet me there at 2, you have practice from 3-5, and your flight leaves at 8.**

 

Ramona sucks in a breath--everything is still moving so quickly--but she answers **See you then**.

 

* * *

 

Ramona’s mom answers on the third ring.

 

“Hello baby, what’s going on?” her mom asks. “You usually don’t call this time of day.”

 

Ramona takes a deep breath. “Mom, I just got called up to the Aeros.”

 

* * *

 

2 o’clock arrives very quickly. At the Aeros facility, James comes out to meet her and guide her to the main offices, stick and over-sized goalie gear bag in tow. Ramona glances around as she goes--the Bombers building isn’t a total shithole like some of the other minor league places she’s seen, but this place has it beat by miles. Even the main offices are nicer, big and open and modern.

 

Jefferson’s office is no different, with plenty of space for a plethora of very comfortable looking chairs, some of which are occupied by two men and a woman, all dressed in business suits. It’s intimidating, and Ramona is suddenly acutely aware of how underdressed she is in comparison, wearing her pre-practice outfit of a tracksuit over underarmor.

 

Jefferson rises to exchange handshakes with her and James, and does a round of introductions. The men in suits are apparently the team lawyers, and the woman is introduced as Katie Preza, one of the team PR managers.

 

“Alright, first order of business, let’s finalize this contract,” Jefferson says with a clap of his hands, and one of the lawyers passes a copy to Ramona. She sits and reads through it carefully.

 

“It’s pretty much as we discussed earlier,” James says to her quietly, looking over her shoulder.

 

One of the lawyers reaches over to tap a few spots on her contract. “As you can see here, we kept your AHL contract the same as what Mr. Peterson informed us was your existing pay rate. And you NHL contract is the league minimum, if you look here.”

 

“We included your requested performance bonuses and no-move clause,” the second lawyer adds, and she gets the sense that they had agreed pretty easily to it due to the fact that she wasn’t going to be around long enough for them to matter.

 

Everything looks boilerplate apart from that, so Ramona signs off on it all. It all feels very surreal--here she is, three years removed from playing in a women’s league for peanuts, now signing an actual fucking NHL contract. It just doesn’t seem real.

 

There’s another round of handshakes and James and the lawyers take their leave, right as a another man comes in. She easily recognizes him as the Aeros head coach Nathan Pelletier, and stands up again to shake his hand.

 

“So this is Ramona Cooper?” he asks Jefferson over her head.

 

“Yes sir, that would be me,” Ramona cuts in firmly, tightening the grip of her handshake maybe a little more than necessary. She’s literally right in front of him, what the heck. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees the PR woman Katie trying to hide a smile.

 

Pelletier blinks down at her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he says after a moment. “So, how do we deal with you in the locker room?” he then asks brusquely, and Ramona sighs internally. Having her as the backup clearly wasn’t his choice.

 

“It’s not too complicated,” she answers, trying not to let her annoyance shine through. “I shower by myself after the guys are done, and I change in the room with them, as long as none of them are uncomfortable with that. Otherwise I just get treated the same as everyone else.”

 

“Actually, we do have a few other guidelines for you,” Jefferson interjects. “You will most likely draw some media scrutiny, so we will need you to be on your best behavior. Don’t do anything that could reflect badly on the organization, and be very careful answering any questions or during any interviews.”

 

Katie jumps in, “I will help you navigate that, so don’t worry too much.”

 

Ramona internally rolls her eyes. “I’m familiar, I’ve been dealing with the media for a few years now.”

 

“All the same, we expect you to follow Ms. Preza’s lead,” Jefferson replies, and she nods obediently. “Furthermore, and this is very much mandatory, do not get physically or romantically involved with any of the members of the team.”

 

“Of course,” she says firmly. That’s been one of her fundamental Rules since day one.

 

“We really mean it,” Pelletier adds, voice sharp. “We don’t need any locker room distractions.”

 

“Trust me, it won’t be a problem,” Ramona answers adamantly, and this time her annoyance with the coach definitely is coming through. For fuck’s sake, she’s made it three years without fucking any team mates, she’s not going to change that now.

 

“Just to be safe,” Jefferson says, “Ms. Preza here will be accompanying you on the road and staying with you in the hotels, to help maintain a certain level of professionalism.”

 

Ramona stares at him. “I’m 26 years old, I don’t need a _chaperone_ ,” she says, offended.

 

Jefferson sighs. “It’s not you I’m worried about, Cooper. These are just preventative measures. I don’t need a media circus distracting everyone just because someone saw you leaving a teammate’s room and turned it into clickbait. It’s going to be bad enough already.”

 

_That’s not my fault_ , Ramona wants to say.

 

_I can’t control the media_ , Ramona wants to say.

 

_That doesn’t make it okay_ , Ramona wants to say.

 

But she doesn’t say any of that. “Of course, I understand, sir,” is what comes out of her mouth instead. And she does understand. Jefferson’s first priority is to run a winning hockey team; caring about the treatment of his last-resort backup goalie probably doesn’t even make the list.

 

It just doesn’t make it any less unfair.

 

But Ramona didn’t last this long in professional hockey without learning when to pick her battles. It’s another one of her cardinal Rules. And this isn’t a hill worth dying on.

 

“Well then, let’s go get introductions over with so we can get practice started,” Pelletier says, gruffly, turning to stride out of the office. Ramona gives Jefferson and Katie a quick nod as she rushes to follow him, snagging her gear back up on her way out.

 

“I can give the boys the spiel about sharing the locker room with me,” Ramona offers to Pelletier as she catches up with him. “I do it pretty often for the Bombers.”

 

“That’s fine, whatever,” he replies, brusque, and she sighs again as she trails along behind him. This is going to be fun, she can already tell.

 

* * *

 

The guys on the Aeros are already all in the locker room, in varying states of undress as they gear up for practice. The atmosphere is raucous and loud, but conversation quickly starts to die down when Ramona and Pelletier make their entrance.

 

“Holy shit, Coop?” a familiar voice asks in surprise, and Ramona looks across the room to meet the wide eyes of Jeff Ekler--better known to her as Echo.

 

She grins at him a little sheepishly and his eyebrows raise further. A few more heads have turned her way, and a couple of the guys she knows from the Bombers are giving her looks as well. Reggie, Blanks, Chevy, plus a few of the others are all in there, and she knows Chevy has already put the obvious together, eyes flickering from her to Pelletier to her gear bag and back.

 

“Everyone, quiet down,” Pelletier orders. Obedient silence follows. “Obviously, some of you already know her, but this is Ramona Cooper from the Bombers. She’s going to be our temporary backup goalie.”

 

There’s a small outburst of noise at that pronouncement, the clearest of which is Echo’s shout of “Hell yeah, Coop!” She grins at his enthusiasm. His wild, overgrown beard is doing nothing to hide his returning wide grin, his chipped front teeth on full display.

“Settle down,” Pelletier orders. “I know having a female here will be new, but I expect everyone to focus and not get distracted. There’s a procedure for her here, so Cooper, if you will?”

 

Ramona nods and turns to face the team at large. “Some of you know the drill from the Bombers, but this is generally how it goes,” she says, voice raised to be clearly heard. “I’ll shower by myself after you all are done, so please don’t take forever. I’ll be in the locker rooms with you, feel free to change with me in there, just don’t go, you know, waving your junk in my face or anything, and I’ll keep my eyes to myself.”

 

Reggie snickers at her and she flaps a hand at him in response. He was one of the worst offenders with the Bombers about casual nudity, as if anyone male or female wanted to see his hairy ass.

 

She continues. “Don’t feel like you need to watch your language around me, I’ve been on men’s hockey teams for years now, I can handle it. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me, and if you do anything that makes me uncomfortable, I will tell you. No sexual harassment, obviously, but we’re all professionals here, so I’m not too worried about it. Any questions?”

 

“Yeah, I got a question,” Echo says, and she covers her eyes with her hand, sighing and bracing herself. “What about cooties, eh? I think my shot is out of date.”

 

Ramona just raises her free hand and blindly flips him off in response. There’s a smattering of laughter.

 

“Okay, that’s enough time wasted, get geared up” Pelletier commands. “I want everyone on the ice and stretching in 10 minutes tops.” He turns and unceremoniously leaves the room.

 

The team rushes to follow his order, and Ramona finds Marky’s empty stall to do the same. She strips to her underarmor and opens her bag to start tugging on gear, a couple guys she doesn’t know casting her awkward glances as she does so. One of the younger guys is red faced, looking firmly away from her. She thinks he’s probably one of the rookies. He looks maybe 12.

 

Johnson, the starting goalie, seems completely unconcerned with her presence, which is nice. It’s not always the case that her male goalie counterparts take it that well, competing with a woman for ice time--not that she’s here to do that, but still. He’s the first one dressed, and nods at her in passing as he heads out to the rink, presumably to start whatever his particular goalie routine is.

 

Ramona herself is only halfway done when Echo appears in front of her, fully geared. He promptly drags her up into a hug that’s more headlock than anything, ignoring her squawk of protest.

 

“Coooooooooop,” he croons, shaking her from side to side as she shrieks into his chest. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! That really hurts my feelings, I thought we were best friends, eh?” He is, in fact, her best friend, but that’s beside the point.

 

Ramona finally gets a hand free and smacks it against his face to shove him away. “Get off me you slug,” she whines, but she’s laughing. “Don’t be such a baby!” She drops back to the bench to finish pulling on the rest of her gear. Echo kneels down to help lace her leg pads and she spares a moment to pat him on the top of his head.

 

“Have you told Angie yet?” Echo asks.

 

“Not yet,” Ramona replies. “I figured tonight at dinner?”

 

Echo makes a noise of agreement. “She’s sure going to be excited, eh?”

 

“No joke!” Ramona agrees with a smile. Angie is her roommate--and incidentally, Echo’s girlfriend.

 

A couple of the other guys have trailed over to greet her. Chevy gives her a whack across the leg with his stick and Reggie bumps fists in passing. A younger guy she recognizes as Jacob Lavoie, the fourth overall pick from the year before, also comes to loiter by her and Echo.

 

“I didn’t even know the Bombers had a woman on the roster,” Lavoie says to Echo.

 

“Come on, Lavs, it’s practically the team motto! ‘The Houston Bombers: You Know, the One With the Chick Goalie’.”

 

Lavs shrugs. “I don’t really pay attention to the minors,” he replies, spoken like a true first round pick.

 

“But we’ve talked about Coop before!” Echo points out, and Ramona raises her eyebrows at that.

 

“Yeah but I didn’t realize Coop was a _girl_.” Lavs sounds almost affronted.

 

For fuck’s sake, these men are useless. She rolls her eyes. “Coop is also right here in front of you,” Ramona points out dryly.

 

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean it like that,” Lavs says to her, chastened, and he actually does sound apologetic, so she smiles at him to take the sting out.

 

“It’s fine. Easy for things to go under the radar in Houston,” she points out. “Gonna be a media shitshow now, though. Not looking forward to it at all.”

Echo pats her on the shoulder consolingly. “There, there. I’ll protect you from the scary reporters.” She swats his arm away.

 

“So, you two know each other pretty well?” Lavs asks, looking between them.

 

“We were on the Bombers together most of last season,” Ramona explains as she pulls a plain practice jersey over her head.

 

“And she’s my girlfriend’s roommate,” Echo adds, helping tug it down over her bulky pads. “So we see a lot of each other.”

 

“Too much,” Ramona chirps. She stands up, drops her mask on the top of her head, and grabs up her stick. “Now come on, let’s go play some hockey.”

 

“Hell yes!” Echo cheers. “I haven’t gotten to score on you in ages!”

 

She laughs at him as she follows him out to the ice. “As if you have a chance!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the Check Please fans, yes, the starting goalie is THAT Johnson. :) As he would say, it's all for the sake of the narrative!
> 
> Next chapter, maybe actual hockey will happen! Hope everyone is enjoying the ride so far.


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